The Lost Tribes, page 33
“Akoosh sakur vera inna, Aureliana,” Ben’s uncle whispered, his voice stoic.
Aurelia had used a similar phrase when Ben was sent to the cave chamber. He would look it up on one of the translators when things settled down.
Aurelia gave a single affirmative nod before she and her team disappeared.
“Where are we going?” April asked, after a dinner of mixed greens and fish. She clutched his Madagascar saddlebag.
“To catch a ship.” Uncle Henry pointed toward April’s newly appropriated possession. “Should have figured that you would claim that for your own. You can have it, but you won’t need it this time.”
“I know,” April said. “We sent all our stuff up to the ship. You’ve got to take us shopping!”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” scowled Uncle Henry. His expression was almost playful. Despite his earlier display of affection, the light tone put Ben on his guard.
Everyone looked at his uncle with suspicion.
“Don’t worry. There will be no more transports coming. You are forced to remain on Earth with the rest of us. I have some business to complete. You will accompany me. Until the gateways are secured we will travel the old fashioned way.”
“To where?” April asked again.
“I have chartered a yacht off the coast of Bimini. We are sailing to our next destination.”
Serise and April pumped their fists up and down and quietly mouthed, “Yes!”
“And that would be where?” Unlike his friends, Ben knew there was a catch.
The corners of his uncle’s mouth curved into a sly smile. His eyebrows arched. “Why … to the 80th meridian.”
“No really,” Carlos stammered. He shook his head in disbelief. “Where are we going?”
“You heard me. You wanted an adventure, now you’ve got one.”
“But isn’t that …”
“Why yes, Carlos,” Uncle Henry said, allowing his words to drip out like molasses. “It is. How astute you are. Your father would be proud. Now … we have little time. You are my charges until we locate your parents or until I tell you otherwise.”
“We can stay here until you get back,” Carlos said in protest. Color drained from his face. “I have rations. See?” He held out a pitiful supply of granola bars.
“My team has its own work to do. They do not have time to baby sit.”
Ben was insulted and let it show. “We can take care of ourselves. We got here safely didn’t we?”
“Luck, not skill, got you here in one piece.”
Grace crossed her arms and shot a resentful glance in Uncle Henry’s direction.
“There is one alternative. Would you like to see?” He stepped to the panel and typed a sequence into the keypad. Five tubes appeared in the center of the room. They looked like smaller versions of the tubes used by the scientific and military teams.
“Cool,” April said. “Do we get to travel this way?”
“Why not try it?” asked Ben’s uncle.
Ben noticed that his uncle never answered the question directly. But the tubes looked harmless. “Sure. Piece of cake.”
He stepped inside. The glass sealed around him. A blue mist seeped into the tube. A freezing cold mist! Suddenly it dawned on him. His uncle had said that there were NO secured gateways to get them to their next destination. So what was this? He banged on the glass and watched helplessly as his friends jumped away from the other tubes. He couldn’t move his legs. The mist floated upward and encircled his chest. He could barely breath. Was this what hypothermia felt like?
The mist turned white, then orange, then red. The temperature warmed significantly. The glass retracted. Ben stumbled out of the tube and hopped up and down to regain the feeling in his legs.
“Cold, cold, cold. Soooooo cold.” Ben blew on his fingers to warm them. “What was that?”
“Stasis tubes,” his uncle replied. “That’s the other option. Go with me or stay in cryogenic freeze. As you can see, I am a reasonable man. I will allow you to make your own choice.”
Ben’s sister and friends scrambled over each other to get to the opposite side of the room.
“Well, if you put it that way. Suddenly Bimini doesn’t sound so bad,” Carlos said. “I vote for going with you.”
Everyone agreed with Carlos’s assessment of the situation. Ben remained silent. He was still trying to get the needles and icicles out of his legs. He was sure he had frostbite. His fingers were purple. His uncle typed another sequence on the keypad. The tubes vanished.
“I thought you would see it my way. It’s settled. We’re going fishing. I will make the final preparations. We leave tomorrow.”
While his uncle was in the bedroom, Ben whispered, “Carlos, what’s so bad about the 80th meridian?”
“That depends. Your uncle said we were sailing off the coast of Bimini, right? That can only mean one thing.”
“What?” Serise asked, tapping her foot impatiently. “What does it mean? Come on! Spill the beans!”
“We should have agreed to go live with foster families. It would have been safer. The 80th meridian … it crosses the Bermuda Triangle.”
Acknowledgements
It took a village to raise this author and this book. Thanks to Anitra Steele for believing in me from the start of my career. To Kent Brown, Jr. for his continued friendship and mentoring. To Jerry Spinelli for his unwavering faith, guidance and for telling me to focus on writing a book I cared about. To Bernette Ford my first editor for guiding me to my first book award. To Dara Sharif, a talented editor who broadened my landscape. To James Cross Giblin who read the beginnings of an early draft and told a colleague I was on to something. To Patti Gauch who pushed me past my limits on this book and as a writer. To Jane Yolen for the nurturing and sage advice when I’d lost faith this book would find a home. To Susan Vaught, Melanie Chrismer. Pam Zollman, and Crystal Allen for reading really rough drafts and supplying endless kicks in the rear. To Lisa McCormick, an amazing investigative journalist who kept sending weird facts about Earth. To Bobbi Early, Harold Underdown, Karen Gallick, Dale Marie Bryan, Dawn Allen, Natasha Hanova, Marsha Lytle, Christine Kohler, Margaree King Mitchell, Jeanna Tetzlaff, Norma King, Kathryn Worley, Duane Porter, ACAIC and Kindling Words for being my support system. To Sherry Polito for laughs and endless moral support. To my friends at Kansas City, Johnson County, MidContinent, Wichita, Tulsa and Rogers public libraries who saw an author early on where none existed including, but not limited to April R., Helma H., Jean H., Barbara B., Arlene W., Kathy M., Clare H., Debbie M., Crystal F., Julie R., Ron F., Richie M., Cathy Sue A., Nancy H., Peggy A., Peggy H. Charlou L., Tricia S., Rebecca W., Maureen C-B., Lisa A. Jennifer E, Chris K., and Elizabeth S. And to everyone I couldn’t list due to space - you know who you are and you know I’m grateful.
To the staff and faculty of the Highlights Foundation — the road to this series and to my career started with you.
C. Taylor-Butler, The Lost Tribes
